Oh, Glory
by The Sapphic Goddess
Summary: Things need to fall apart before new pieces can be put back into place. It first starts with remembering, then it comes to forgiving - can you forgive her? Can you forgive her for leaving you in the basement? Can you forgive her for making you love her senselessly and carelessly? Canon S3 w/ AU, because Finn lives on. Dantana
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

She was like a prozac flower.

In other words, she was fluoxetine, and I had become dependent on her. She suppressed the uptake of serotonin in my brain; she destroyed me from both the inside and the outside. She became my morning coffee, my daily oxygen, and my nightly slumber. I sustained on her taste, smell, and touch.

She became a necessity. My necessity.

I learned in an organic chemistry class that carbon has the ability to chemically bond with a wide array of chemical elements, and even other carbon atoms. She was like carbon – she fluttered around with the wings of a social butterfly, intoxicating every stranger that she brushed against in the hallways of William McKinley High School. She was, as everyone whispered carefully amongst themselves between classes, the capering rainbow that appeared on days that shone and days that showered.

She was that perfect in-between of sunshine and raindrops.

I didn't like to get attached, most especially to transfer kids. Why waste time on people who were eventually going to leave, anyway? It seemed like futile attempts at creating friendships that would never last.

But I was young, naive, and regretfully stupid. I was high off of the Freshman thrill of getting my first set of Cheerios uniform and catching stolen glances from every boy in my homeroom class, all within the first week of high school.

I was on a roll, and she broke it as easily as one, two – but she didn't need a three.

Halfway through the year, McKinley implemented its first ever exchange program with some oddly-named boarding school in California. When Principal Figgins announced it over the P.A. system on the first week of January, a sea of prim-and-proper wallflowers flooded into the room. I remember cocking an eyebrow, because I had never seen boarding school aliens before.

They were just as I expected. She looked like she was.

New teacher recruit Mr Schuester paired her up with me. Until today I still secretly cursed at his explosion of unattractive sponge-hair and nonexistence face whenever I passed him in the hallways. It had been three years, and it was a long time to hold a grudge against a person, but I hated him with a passion for practically implanting her on me

She came across slightly strait-laced like Rachel (back then I still used first names, unfortunately), but there was a wayward confidence in her that screamed Puck. She spoke with the snark of Coach Sylvester but was painfully likeable, like Finn. An air of comfortable familiarity did not encompass her, but instead she encompassed it.

It all started with indifferent hellos.

* * *

I began to refer to ourselves as 'we' on that day, and every other day that followed thereafter. During her predominantly uninteresting stay, we were always seen attached by the hips everywhere; for most of the times, we were inseparable, despite her sticking out like a sore thumb when we went out with my friends. Every evening there would be a horde of Cheerios at Breadstix, and then she would sit, conspicuously, within the ocean of red, right beside me.

In spite of the vast difference that was her and I, she was growing on me more and more as each day passed by. We walked to school and back home. We had homeroom together every Monday morning and ate lunch together at the Cheerios' table. In a sense she became integrated into my life and I wouldn't have been able to get rid of her even if I tried.

She turned into my light, my confidante, and my other half in eighty-six days, and I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into.

"Come on, let's watch a movie in the basement."

I grinned at her proposal; it was Guilty Pleasures Friday, and that meant mindless packs of sour patch kids and Mean Girls.

The Basement became symbolical to me after that night. There was a reason why I preferred lofts and apartments over suburban houses.

"I don't want the-"

I started picking at the candy, "The red sour patches, I know, I know."

"Hey, you know what, the yellow ones taste like pineapple, but they're supposedly lemon." She explored the bag with woe. "Crap, they don't have any oranges! They're the best; this is candy discrimination!"

I chuckled lightly and popped a red patch onto my tongue. "Maybe they just ran out of orange colouring at the factory."

"You wanna make orange?"

"How?"

Instantaneously, my tongue tasted a swirl of lemon in the strawberry that conquered my taste buds. She was soft and delicate, like a feather in the wind – if you didn't catch her quick enough, she escaped. I held onto her with both arms and had the desire to never let go.

We made orange, in my mouth and hers. She tasted like a goddess and I craved for more.

I craved for so much more than just a small taste of her.

* * *

It had been a weekend since we made orange together in the Basement, and after her Satan parents had rushed me out of the door when they caught our little orange-fest. I started to feel guilty, because the last word I said to her was "How?", and not anything else that could have held more meaning than "How?".

Monday morning came and I went to school alone for the first time since eighty-nine days ago. Quinn and Brittany greeted me with a questioning eyebrow and childlike beam respectively; we meandered through the hallways, like three ruling queens of one kingdom. The serfs interspersed and adhered to the walls, clearing out a path of golden water for us to walk on.

But what was royalty without _my_ queen? I sought for her when she didn't appear for homeroom; her locker was still in tact, containing all of her books and pieces of lined paper, on which she wrote accidental, nonsensical lyrics that made sense only to herself and I.

'It started off with indifferent hellos, but ended with unseen goodbyes.' That was one of my favourites.

I found out later that Monday morning she was shipped back to boarding school Saturday night, a 'sudden decision' that her parents had 'made out of the blue'. There were traces of her laying here and there and everywhere in school; her locker became a shrine, an emblem of a lost soldier at battle. Every other Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday lost meaning.

She didn't bother looking for me, and so I didn't with her, either.

She gave me life, and then she reborn me into the person I am today. Santana Lopez: Judgemental Bitch.

* * *

Senior year – it has been three years since I last heard of her, but it certainly isn't the last time that I will think of her. She still hangs around in the murky corners of my mind, ghosting my moves with every single guy I've been with in the past couple of months and currently, Brittany.

Until today, I carry a piece of her with me. Not as baggage, but as an engraved tattoo that I don't ever want to remove. As the morning bell clamours through the hallways, people scatter to classes in flurry, but I stalk off towards my locker, a routinely task I do every morning.

I fumble with the tattered piece of scrap paper that stays hidden in between my biology and english books.

'_It started off with indifferent hellos, but ended with unseen goodbyes_.'

Below the childish chicken scrawls is my cursive handwriting.

'I will find you, Little D.'

* * *

**Note****: I've never liked writing in first-person, but I'm doing this thing where I try new stuff, so I hope it was alright and that you guys liked this. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it's growing on me. Thoughts?**


	2. Yellow

**ONE: Yellow**

_1: 'Open your eyes, look within. Are you satisfied with the life you're living?' - Bob Marley_

Little D hid quotes all around the school. She had taken the liberty of covering the 'deadpan shades of the school' with the wise words of the universe whenever I had to go for Cheerio practice in the mornings and afternoons. Her words, chicken scratches as I liked to call them, were secrets concealed everywhere, and so far, I have only managed to find thirty-six in the three years since she left them here in McKinley.

For a fourteen year-old girl from a conservative Jesuit school, Danielle was quite an interesting rebel. She was expected to conform by her school masters and peers; in some cases she did, but there was a particular spark in her that put her apart from the rest of the flock of sheep.

She once mentioned to me that in a single day, she would make at least twenty quotes (ten in the morning, with a yellow highlighter, and ten in the afternoon, with a blue marker), and with her attending around sixty schooldays or so, that would mean that there were well over a thousand 'Little D Scribbles' etched on school property.

Think about it: a thousand over wise words, and here I am with only thirty-six. It's like every time I find a quote, I manage to uncover another piece of her that I get to keep permanently.

I sip on my hazelnut macchiato and flip through the crusty pages of the leather-bound notebook on my lap. The smell of the cover has a hint of Abuela's place; an inhale of it causes me to feel a little lightheaded. I take another gulp of the coffee and it burns my heart to numbness.

_6: 'For every good reason there is to lie, there is a better reason to tell the truth.' - Bo Bennett_

Better reason my ass, Bo Bennett. Maybe the whole idea of truths and fake-truths didn't apply to coming out of the sexuality closet, and I should have just stayed in there with the rest of the hangers.

"Santana Lopez, early for Glee Club practice?" Kurt sashayed in, arm-in-arm with Blaine and looking as dashingly gay as his teen-bop ass can do. "Has the world gone mad?"

Of course, trust Miss Hummel to knock the sentiment out of the moment; the book falls into my bag and stays there, away from the prying eyes of the world. "Perez Hilton, the only thing that would make the world go mad is you in those horrible plaid button-up."

That shut him down momentarily as he gabbers to Blaine about the cowboy getup not being his thing – thank God. I'm really not in the mood for another one of his sass episodes; just then Brittany waltzes in, brightening the room up with her layered red-pink-white knitted beanie and Cheerios smile.

"Hi Britt," She leans over and presses her lips against mine briefly before settling down on her usual seat beside me. "How was morning math remedial?"

"Mr Murray brought Dots and I learned how to count to a hundred Dots without leaving out the sixes and nines."

"Good job," I give her an encouraging kiss, but all I want right now is to be closer to her than the gap between our chairs. "Now I get to have ten kisses instead of eight."

"I'll give you a hundred," Brittany flashes a toothy grin and I can feel the warmth of her beanie on my forehead.

Life is good so far. Despite my Abuela's unfortunate outburst at my sapphic love for Brittany and other double-X chromosomes mammals, things are unsuspiciously fantastic. I can even feel the meanness being driven out of my body; I got to spend my Valentine's Day with Brittany and we are going to Regionals in less than a week. Honestly, for the first time in quite a long time, life is slushie-free and well.

_10: 'Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.' - Mark Twain_

I sip on my hazelnut macchiato and watch as the naked Finn she-bang unfolded in the choir room. I mean, what's the big deal? If he gets famous for this then he can roll his bacon flaps in pornography, for people who have weird fetishes in fat infantile faces. I know for a fact that porn stars earn a _lot_ of money. Maybe the meanness hasn't really disappeared completely from my system yet.

Dwarfism strikes again, with her narcissistic rant and conceited talent in making any and everything about herself. The caffeine is kicking in and I feel ready to beat some Warbler ass, Lima Heights style. If Finn wants to wave his tubby self in television sets, then it is his own damn business to do whatever the hell he wants. But if Se-bastard Twinkle Toes wants to play it rough, I will bring my cat claws if I have to.

After the whole slushie-salt-rock incident, I've been praying everyday for the chance to deface those God awful eyebrows and horse teeth.

We get through practice without singing a single song after Finn storms out of the choir room, taking his naked self with him. I take another sip of my coffee but realise that the cup is already empty; grabbing my bag, I thrash the Lima Beans cup into the bin as I walk towards the exit with Brittany by my side. I have no intention of consoling Finn, but I'm also not particularly thrilled about the whole bitch-crap that Warble McTwinkle is pulling.

In other words, _Santana Lopez_ has got to keep her bitch image up.

"Does anyone have an extra copy of his squishy tits?"

* * *

_13: 'Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.' - Rabindranath Tagore_

For the rest of the week, the school falls into a period of stagnancy after hearing Karofsky is put on suicide watch. Talk about irony – the bully gets a taste of his own medicine. Honestly, I'm not trying to be apathetic or anything, but the thought that Karofsky had tried to take his own life is both sad and tragic. He might have been an asshole when he was here, but nobody deserves to be treated like this – driven to the point of suicide.

I guess even Twinkle Toes has a heart too, after all. He almost seemed human.

Mr Schue makes the Glee Club sit in a vulnerability circle and share our feelings. Most cases I don't like holding the 'feeling stick' at all; they look at me as if they expected something melodramatic. It's amazing how everyone just looks past the fact that I opened a little bit of my heart at that moment – I'm not sure if I feel glad or upset. Nonetheless, the fact that I even considered this actually makes me slightly nauseous.

I just sit there for the rest of the share-circle thinking about what Little D would have said if she was still around.

"Fuck your a-bella, or whatever. If she doesn't love you for who you are, then why should you bother with her? Fuck anybody and everybody who doesn't accept you, even if they make the best chilaquiles."

It makes me smile just imagining the idea of her being next to me. I wonder how different and grown up she would look right now – all I can think of is a full mane of brown locks cascading down her back like waterfall curls, and those cocoa orbs staring back, with their glimmer of wit and confidence.

_17: 'Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.' - Aristotle_

A glance over at Brittany and I come crashing back down to reality. It's not really cheating if everything about Little D is just in my head, right? I do love Brittany with all my heart, and she makes every damn day so much better to live through. She is probably the purest and best human being in this shit planet, and I don't ever want her to be hurt, much less by of me.

And isn't it stupid for me to be trying to hold onto something so far away in the past? I need to learn how to love what's in front of my eyes – Brittany, and Brittany only.

_22: 'Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.' - Francois de La Rochefoucauld_

"Santana, are you coming?"

"Yeah, Britt."

* * *

When I woke up today, the first thing I thought about was getting a hazelnut macchiato from Lima Beans before heading over to Regionals. There is just something not right about starting the day off without coffee – and besides, it's Regionals Day. That justifies getting two cups of caffeine; it's not that I'm addicted or anything, but there is something in the nutty taste and creamy foam that somewhat calms my nerves.

By the time I get to the bus, everyone is dancing and optimistic as hell. I make sure that I have an entire _grande _of coffee in my system before I hop on; the caffeine kicks in almost instantaneously, and I suddenly itch to do a double handspring on top of the bus.

I can almost taste the sweet bliss in the air – we definitely have this in the bag. If Finn and Rachel suck faces on stage and cost us our Nationals again, I swear to all the Gods in this world, I am going to drag them to Lima Heights and let them dig their own graves there.

The engine starts and everyone stays shockingly energetic. Sam starts to strip-dance to _Party in the USA_ sometime during our bus ride, and we start throwing crumpled dollar notes (which later turns into candy wrappers instead) at his abs before Mr Schue ruins the naked fun.

After that, time seems to pass by crap-tastically slow. Brittany falls asleep on my shoulder like the angel she is; glancing down at our intertwined hands, I feel a sense of security. Love with her is easy despite the whole let's-be-honest lesbian bullshit, because in the end, she has always been there for me, for the worst or for the best. It makes me feel even more guilty, because though I may be content being with her, there is a part of me that still needs to be convinced that I am happy.

It isn't that Brittany doesn't love me enough, because she loves me unconditionally – it's the fact that I feel like I don't love _her_ enough. I do love her very much, but sometimes I just wonder whether if she deserves me. I grew up with her, and somewhere along the way I began to grow in love with her; the feelings came slow, seeping in and drenching me with affection for her. But with Danielle it felt different, because it certainly was – it just happened. It just was, and I just knew.

_4: 'Love isn't something you find. Love is something that finds you.' - Loretta Young_

'Love?' Little D's cynical voice pops in my head and I fight back the urge to smile. 'We're barely fourteen yet and you're telling me you love me?'

But that was how she made me feel three years ago. Seeing her would make me feel so much like a human – too much vulnerability to my liking – but oddly enough, she would still make me feel absolutely safe at the same time.

Her laugh echoes through the walls of my mind. 'Don't love me, not yet, anyway. Let's save that for another day.'

I just do. I can't help it.

"Can't help what?" Brittany stirs, tilting her head up with her lazy blue eyes. I must have been speaking out loud again, something that I haven't done since Freshman year. Internally I curse to myself, but it simultaneously scares Little D away for a bit.

"Oh, it's nothing." I say, stroking her hair. "Just that I can't help out Yentl with her obnoxious head that houses her ego. Nothing serious."

She nuzzles into my neck easily, and I can't help but notice that she fits perfectly into me like a puzzle piece. Maybe I have been worrying for nothing all this time – I love her and she loves me, so what more can I be asking for?

"Oh,"

_33: 'Love is the flower you've got to let grow.' - John Lennon_

"Oh?"

"Rachel has a house in her head. That's really cool – I'm going to build a house right now. I just need some stone, because I don't want my house to be made out of sticks and hay or else the big bad wolf is going to come blow my house down."

There is a simplicity in Brittany, and she just makes loving her so damn easy. How am I ever going to get over her, if there comes a day that we do break up?

"Genius, you go do that."

"What about you, Santana? Do you have a house?"

"Yes, and there's a fireplace for you and me."

"Is it just for the two of us? Is there anyone else in there?"

Little D returns with her snark. 'Tell her, go tell her that I'm here! I dare you, no wait, I double-dare you, Snixx!'

I almost jump a bit. It's been so long since I've heard anyone else (other than me, that is) to call me by that name. Despite the fact that I made everyone believe that I self-proclaimed myself as Snixx, really, it was Little D who called me that after I stole her Snicker bar once.

Little D and Little Snixx – that was what her dad used to call us. I'm pretty sure he's referring to me as the homosexual Satan by now.

"No, nobody. Just the two of us."

Brittany frowns, "That's not fun. We should throw a party and have everyone come over. The theme should be something cool – how about dinosaurs?"

I smile at her.

"Anything you want, Britt. Say it and it'll be yours."

"Can I have a sweet lady kiss?"

* * *

Everyone looks stunning in black and gold, but as an obligation to my reputation as a big-ass bitch, I don't go around telling people that. I sit at the dressing table and pretend to fix my fake lashes into place; the tenseness in the room is so palpable that, I swear, even the windows are fogging up. Tina is scurrying around making last-minute amendments to Brittany's dress, and Rachel and Finn are somewhere behind curtains canoodling each other's breasts. Faces start to blur and the anxiety begins to overwhelm into me.

It's not even my anxiety; I feel pretty confident about our victory. Things are well in the world and everything makes sense – so really, what are the odds that something bad is going to happen today, of all the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year?

_30: 'Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.' - Dr. Seuss_

The air becomes impossible to breathe and I step out of the room, despite hearing Rachel clamorously call for me to get my butt back there as we are going on in less than fifteen minutes. I walk out anyway, because (a) I do not listen to Dwarf McJew, and (b) I refuse to sit around and play audience while she sucks Finn's face off.

"New Directions, fifteen minutes..."

I roll my eyes. In show choir business, fifteen minutes can surely mean thirty minutes to an hour. It suffices to say that divas put the late in being fashionably late, because really, Berry the Gnome has no sense of style at all. Woman, for the love of God, reindeer sweaters are and never will be in season.

'Miss me yet?' Little D barges through the doors of the house in my head, wearing that same sweatshirt and skinnies she wore when we made orange.

Maybe, or maybe not. Danielle's been gone three years, and I've only known her for a measly eighty-six days, yet I feel like I know her inside and out. She is like a friendly stranger; I once read a book that says everybody has several Yellows in the world. Yellows, according to the author, are people who you meet and have a direct, intimate relationship with – but it only lasts for a brief moment. Some people get to keep their Yellows, but oftentimes it's better to set them free.

Perhaps Little D is – no, _was_ – my Yellow.

My Yellow. _My,_ Yellow. Mine.

The more I think about it, the more I begin to think that having met Danielle three years ago is a tragic idea. Most people should have gotten over their childhood friend, whom they barely know over the course of eighty-six days, but here I am brooding over a lost stranger. I feel stupid. Why am I wasting my time? It's senior year, and it's Regionals, _and_ I love Brittany – I have everything a girl can ever wish for.

So why am I still thinking about a temporary Yellow who is long gone?

I think about it, about her, as I stare into the crowds through the little opening between the curtains. There are seven billion people in the world to meet, so why should one small childhood ghost haunt me forever? It daunts on me that I can release her whenever I want, right now if I wish to. I can let her go forever.

_27: 'What you hide the most reveals the most about you.' - Albert Espinosa_

"New Directions, five minutes!"

Maybe after Regionals, then.

I hear the murmuring of the audiences and awake from my sleepless trance; instinctively, my body sprint-walks for the backstage room, and I already know that Mr Schue is going to give me a talk about team-playing or something, and Rachel about tardiness. I don't give much thought to the consequences anymore – Regionals is happening now and Bitch Santana is switched off.

For once, I feel grateful for the years of cardio training that Coach Sylvester forced all the Cheerios to do every morning. I had wander about for ten minutes but reaches the hallway to the room in less than three; before heading in, I check my reflection and reposition my headband.

Little D is no where to be found. I push her aside and step into the room, head cleared and ready to kick some show choir ass.

"Santana, glad that you thought to join us," Mr Schue plainly reprimands but is evidently distracted by his nerves. "Alright Finn, take the floor."

And off his mouth fires with the pep-talk and you-can-do-this pats on the back. Honestly though, I do like show circles a lot. This is different from the Cheerios huddle before every football game – there is genuine trust and friendship bouncing off of everyone here. Standing here in this ugly shape of a circle with the Glee Club, I feel oddly at place.

Finn mentions something about marriage, finger sandwiches, and some other shit about real life, but I don't pay much attention. In my head I frantically search for Little D before our performance, but most importantly before I have to say goodbye to her for good. I don't hear her snark anywhere and panic rises in my chest; show circle ends with an 'A-mazing!', but I don't feel a-mazing at all.

The stage is dark and unnervingly silent. Music begins to sound through the speakers, but I feel incomplete. Little D still refuses to show herself; Rachel's voice reverberates around the auditorium and cues the girls' entrance.

Everything is dark, and I can feel my heart rising to my throat. I search the bathroom, the guest room, the fireplace, the porch, everywhere – but I can't find Little D. Suddenly, at that moment in time, I start to grow scared of the fact that I may actually have lost her for good. All I can think right now is that the goodbye is way too early. I cannot swallow my heart down.

Rachel sinks to the background with the other dances, and Mike guides me to the front of the stage with his suave dance moves. My vocal chords tighten and I feel constricted – I can't sing, I can't sing! Stop the music, I can't-

The spotlight hits my eyes, blinding me for just a second. But in that brief flash of yellow, a sight of heaven as I return back into the darkness, I see something familiar. I almost vomit my heart out onto the stage floor.

Right in the front rows are Danielle's Satan parents.

* * *

_**#Totally thought it was Dani, didn't ya? She's coming in soon, fret not.**_

_**#Heads up, the book that Santana talks about is called 'The Yellow World' by Albert Espinosa. I suggest to give it a read, but it really changed the way I view things and the world. The book is a stunner.**_

_**#In the meantime, enjoy the Santana sass I try to inject in. I hope I captured her essence alright – she's basically a goddess.**_

_**#All credits to Brainyquote for a wonderful quote-providing service.**_

_**:)**_


	3. Energy Drinks

**TWO: Energy Drinks**

_14: 'We are afraid of the enormity of the possible.' - Emile M. Cloran_

I don't know what to call them. That was the first thing that crossed my mind when they approached me after the show. How do I address a pair of God-awful parents who, for three years running, believe that I am the one to have caused their daughter's little lesbian adventure? I don't know what to call them, and so I find myself stuttering for an answer, _any_ answer.

"Santana, good to see that you're doing well," Danielle's mother (or Battle-axe, as we used to call her when we were filled with teenage angst and blissful ignorance) wraps her arms around me, and I can't help but feel slightly suffocated.

I still don't know what to say, so I just grunt in agreement. A 'thank you' doesn't even choke it's way out of my throat; my head bobs softly to the hard thumping of my heart. My ribcage is on the verge of shattering into pieces.

Since when have I ever reacted as badly as this? My palms are sweaty and the dress begins to stick to my skin. I'm still unsure of what to call them – they just stare at me, two pairs of soulless eyes searching for any trace of lesbianism in my bloodstreams.

Her father, who until today is still left nameless, gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Great job, you and your friends did well."

I don't know what to say, so I flash a small smile.

Three years since I last saw them, and three years since they had kicked me out of their home. And, of all the days that they shove their religious asses into my face, they do it today? Sometimes there are things that human beings cannot process, and for me, this has officially become one of the most uninventive situations that God has ever made for me.

Pretty sure Mr. God is up there having a good chuckle at me right about now.

Mr Schue awkwardly intervenes and requests for me to be excused for the award ceremony. For once, I'm glad that he did – I can't stand being around them for another minute. Even my parents decidedly opted (well, Dad's an on-call doctor and Mom does something important, I think) not to show up for my performances, so what motive do these people have to be here?

I start to wonder if something happened to Little D. They certainly seem more miserable than before, and Danielle's nowhere to be found. At this thought, my heart begins to knock at my ribcage, a panic settling in quickly as my feet suddenly cramps up.

What do I call them? I need to ask about Danielle.

"She'll be there in a second," Battle-axe says in a soft tone, straightening up her cashmere purple cardigan and buttoning it up. As always, her conservativeness makes her seem like a deranged mental patient. The urge to laugh gets stuck in my throat by what she says next:

"We need to talk to her about our daughter, Danielle."

A look of concern flashes across Mr Schue's demeanour, and I can tell that he still remembers who Danielle is. He slips out of the room discreetly, leaving me in a room of broken chairs, year-old props, and two homophobes who hate me with a religious passion.

If they plan on doing a lobotomy on me, or whatever, there is a safety pin somewhere in my dress and I am not afraid to use it against them. When you live in Lima Heights Adjacent as long as I have, the Adjacent starts to loose its meaning and all you're left with is a life of defending yourself with something as simple as a safety pin.

The pin probably unfastened sometime during the Troubletone's dance number, and it pokes into the skin of my thumb-pad as I tried to search for it under the satin fabric. My thumb starts to grow wet with blood, but the adrenaline must have blinded the pain.

"Do you remember our daughter Danielle? We transferred her over to McKinley a few years ago, two, I think? Or was it three?"

I nod with unease.

"Well something happened to her..."

Bile starts to rise and I try to swallow it back down. I want to vomit, but I can't. I just stand there and gawk at the two parents, who are oblivious to the anxiety attack developing in my body. My breath hitches.

"We haven't heard from Danielle in a while now,"

So that's the problem – Little D is doing another one of her disappearing acts again. The nausea begins to dissipate, and I start to feel less anxious and more understanding of the situation. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Little D hates being around her parents. They have always disliked the fact that their own daughter doesn't reciprocate the same religious faith that they have, but that isn't true. Little D has her own connection to God, and, as she says, they talk every night before she sleeps.

I still remember the way she would kneel beside the bed with a longing expression on her face, lips moving slightly as she sent her prayers towards the skies. Her knees would scratch against the carpeted floors, but she wouldn't care.

After the first time I witnessed her little conversation with God, I started to admire her so much more. Just because God wants to punish me now for whatever bitch-shit I've done in the past, doesn't mean that other people can't have a good relationship with him.

"Snixx, life with God is knowing that there is always someone there looking out for you. Sometimes, it's less painful and lonely."

The way her wayward, innocent eyes stared back at me, so full of hope and love that until today, I still feel them burning holes into my heart.

"She's been gone two years now and... we were wondering if she came to you."

I push past them and head for the door. Next thing I know, I'm hurling my Mexican burrito into a thrash bin and making a mess of my make-up.

* * *

We won Regionals.

We won, but here I am feeling sorry for myself. After a mad day of singing and dancing and gut-spewing into a recycling bin (which promptly sets the backstage workers into a crazy frenzy), I don't even have the energy to blink, much less talk and celebrate with the rest of the Glee crew. It's close to midnight now and I'm sitting on the fire escape of someone else's apartment, drinking some cheap energy drink that tastes like crappy cough syrup.

I have a bag of sour patch kids that remains unopened beside me.

_8: 'Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.' - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

Laying back against the rusty metal steps, I look up at the oddly-shaped moon. It hides behind darker shaded clouds, probably signalling that rain is coming and that I should be heading home, but I stay put. Tonight, the moon has a secret, and it's refusing to tell me anything.

Maybe the moon knows where Danielle is. Wherever she is right now, and for the past two years, we're all looking at the same sky. The moon can see her right now; for all I know, she may even be sitting at somebody's fire escape (or even her own) and be moon-gazing like me.

A corporeal version materialises beside me, and I imagine what watching the moon at midnight would be like with her. I can almost feel the coolness of her skin as I hang my arm around her neck, her brown hair tickling my nose.

"Have you ever heard of the story between the Sun and the Moon?"

I turn and appropriately place my lips on her temples softly, "Of how the Moon loved the Sun so much that she died every day just so the other could live?"

She nods, and her hair continues to tickle my nose. I stifle a sneeze, but she goes on talking; I hear her voice through her skull as I lean my ear against her head. "The Moon is cheating on the Sun."

"How so?"

"Every twilight before the Sun comes up, the Moon disappears with the Stars. Before the Sun can see anything, they've already faded and gone into their little sanctuary of darkness."

"Huh,"

"And then they start to do all sorts of kinky stuff,"

The turn in the conversation makes me break into an amused grin, and a chuckle wrecks itself out of my body. I hug her closer and take every bit of her in – she smells like lavender, the comforter her mother uses on all her clothing.

She feels too real.

Her fingers lock themselves in mine, and we just sit there shouting at the moon for being disloyal. We yell at the recklessly-shining stars for being irresponsible teenagers and destroying a perfect love from blossoming.

"You're a bitch, Moon! The Sun loves you and you just throw it away? Screw you!"

"Stop being such ignorant and selfish Stars! The Moon is not any of your lover, so get out!"

We laugh until our stomaches hurt and the city begin to awaken. The moon and the stars slowly lose their illumination, and she tells me that they're going away for another sex-capade again, leaving the sun all by his lonesome. I wrap my arms around her and reply that I will never leave her. She says what the whirling breeze says – nothing.

I take a swig of my energy drink and I feel her slipping away. She goes slowly, then all at once.

_36: 'Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky, are best relieved by the letting of a little water.' - Christopher Morley_

There is no pain, and there is no distress. The wind blows again; a chill creeps against my bones, escaping through the holes of my ribcage and entrapping my heart. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't comfort me at all – the coldness stays there, an accumulation of walled-up sadness that has been present since the day she left me in Lima, Ohio.

I sit there and I cry.

* * *

It is Rachel's wedding day today; when I showed up with puffy eyes and was still in my bloodstained Regionals dress, Brittany stared at me with worried eyes and asked me what was wrong. I told her I had too much celebration cocaine and she sighed with some degree of disappointment, but let me into the dressing room anyway.

"Lord Tubbington uses cocaine too," Brittany grumbles, cleaning my thumb with a wet napkin. The blood is dried and an ugly brown colour. "I keep telling him to stop, but he doesn't listen."

Agreeing to whatever she is saying, I nod. The mirror tells me that my skin is terrible and my eyes are atrocious – I look far from being a fabulous bitch. Right now I look downright miserable. I don't comprehend my appearance and to reassure myself that this is in fact reality, I touch my face. It feels rough and dry. I recoil.

Circling a bandaid around my thumb, Brittany leans in close and watches me through the mirror, "Come on, you can't wear that."

Despite everyone's opinion that Brittany is stupid, she really isn't. As she helps me slip out of the crusty black dress and into something more appropriate for the occasion (and less tragical), everything comes back to me. Brittany takes care of me. She is real, and she loves me. She accepts me for who I am and she's real.

Brittany is real, but she isn't.

When I think back, I feel like Brittany is the Sun, I am the Moon, and Danielle is that shooting star that fleets even before I am allowed to touch her for a moment.

I feel guilty, but I shouldn't. I should be happy, but I'm not. I don't know what to do, and how to feel. Suddenly, I find myself not knowing anything anymore. I have everything in front of my eyes (Brittany smiles at me, and I return the favour) but in all honesty, I'd rather have nothing if this dreadful feeling of emptiness keeps following me.

_11: 'For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been".' - John Greenleaf Whittier_

Rachel starts to grow anxious (like the worry wart she is) and taps at her phone, presumably sending a text to no-show Quinn. Brittany pins my hair back and I scrutinise myself in the mirror; I certainly look pretty, but I don't feel very pretty. I have had no sleep at all and am thriving on one small can of cheap-tasting energy drink. I straighten the creases in my skirt and settle on the armrest of the couch.

"Quinn's going to come... right?"

If the bridesmaid doesn't come, I am going to laugh my ass off. My head is spinning and I need one or twenty tylenols; when someone grasps onto my hand, I almost pull it back. For a second there, I thought that Danielle had returned.

Instead, Brittany looks at me with concerned eyes.

I love her with all my heart. Breathing her in as we hug, her perfume floods my nostrils and sends my head into an explosive hurricane. Every fibre of my being is awakening because of her, and I know that my body is still reacting to her touch – I still want her. I need her.

Brittany's perfume stuns me, and I see her. Standing next to the shadows that contrasts the brightness of the morning sunlight, I see her.

Danielle.

My heart bursts with some tender passion; sweat beads form under my bra but I don't care. The light floods in and somewhere in the corner of my mind, a little version of me is sending a prayer to any god or goddess willing to hear my gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you-

Then like the shooting star she is, she flashes and disappears.

The shadows return to being shadows and the light stay unmoving. She is gone, having left me behind again. My heart swells with misery and it aches with every beat. I don't think I can take anymore of this.

"Quinn got into a car accident."

I may as well go into a fucking cardiac arrest.

* * *

The first day back in school since Quinn's accident has got everyone in a silent motion. Everybody is speaking in quiet whispers about the broken cheerleader but nobody actually talks openly. I find this completely hypocritical; if people keep saying that bullying is horrible and should be stopped, they should stop talking about Quinn behind her back, too.

People are pathetic, and that is why I have been spending my entire morning (and an uneventful weekend) avoiding any and all contact with other human beings. I even got Lima Beans to deliver my hazelnut macchiatos now, just so I don't need to run to the coffee shop and risk seeing people I know.

Brittany and I have been sending Skype messages to and fro, but really, I haven't told her much. Usually I just say I'm recovering from sore muscles after Coach Sylvester's intense new Cheerios routine, which is true to some extent, but for the most part I wanted to be alone.

I stocked up on that energy drink. It's making my fridge smell like expired cough syrup, but I haven't gotten the guts to actually try it again. Maybe the company put some kind of drug in it and it made me trip out the other night – maybe it really is real cough syrup.

English Lit is empty and I settle for a new seat, the one all the way at the back of the classroom and right next to the window. It is the time of the morning where the sun is up but the light is not yet blinding, and the heat has not set in so it's still reasonably breezy. In other words, it is my second favourite time of the day.

Midnight still stands as my number one.

The table is stained with (what I hope to be) month-old coffee stains that cover plenty of Freshman monster doodles and Senior 'IDGAF' scrawls. On the edge of it is etched with all-too-familiar chicken scratches:

_'If you're going through hell, keep going.' - Winston Churchill_

I whip out the notebook and note it down. Thirty-seven.

Another piece of Little D is uncovered today, and simultaneously, I feel closer and further from her. Here is another hint into her mind and piece that I get to keep in this never-ending puzzle of what is known to be Danielle, but then it also makes me miss her even more. Three years since I last talked to her, and yet I still act like she left just yesterday.

My fingers unconsciously run against the permanent marker ink. I can already imagine her writing her chicken scratches onto the tabletop, a mischievous grin plastered on her thoughtful alabaster face. There is a beautiful contrast that existed in her.

I miss her.

Taking the energy drink out of my bag, I chug it down.

"Hey you," She reappears, making herself comfortable on my lap.

"Hey, you."

* * *

_**#I'm terribly sorry if Santana seems a bit out of character and more sad than usual. I've been going through some serious emotional turbulence and, well, writing is my only way of letting them out. I think it's not too far-fetched, and Santana is still allowed to be a human being with actual emotions sometimes, especially when her wall of snark comes down.**_

_**#Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. And that little story about the moon and the sun and the stars, I kind of borrowed the moon and sun love story thing, but made up the stars completely on my home. Hopefully it made sense to you.**_

_**#Dani has not officially come in yet, but she sort of is in Santana's mind. **_

_**#Reviews are greatly appreciated, and they make me want to write more. :)**_


	4. Goodnight

**THREE: Goodnight**

_2: 'If you are lonely when you're alone, you are in bad company.' - Jean-Paul Sartre_

"What's on your mind, babe?"

Padding across the polished hardwood flooring, Danielle makes her delicate way to me at the study desk, hanging her head over my shoulder as she pecks my cheek affectionately. The smell of her fills my brain, overpowering the sharp stench of the energy drink in the room.

"Just studying for the Lit test," Taking her in, I pause my writing and grasp her hand with both of mine. "I missed you."

Her familiar laughter rings in my ears, and I can feel her tender fingers dancing along my collarbones. As I reach for another sip of the canned drink, she steps over and places herself in my lap, nuzzling her face in my neck. She smells so good.

"You saw me last night, when we watched _Man of Steel_, remember?"

I laugh, "Yes, but I still miss you."

I don't know what to say; she doesn't even know that we haven't actually seen each other in three years, and I don't want to break her heart and send her running into the oblivion. I miss her, I want her, I need her, and most importantly: I love her. It dawns on me that it isn't fair to Brittany (who is on her way over despite my protests not to), but I love her, too.

They both drive me crazy to the point of weak knees and sweaty under-boobs, but if God ever wants me to choose, I can't.

"1984, huh," Danielle scrutinises the novel that is in my hands, knitting her eyebrows together with confusion. "I don't like this book."

"You read?"

Hopping off of my lap, she lays lazily on the bed and messes up my sheets into a bundle. She curls up into a cocoon, a ball of cuteness that a smile just forms on my face. "Yes, Sarcasm Lopez, yes I do."

But I know that Little D has always been a bookworm – she says books act like an anti-universe where everything that does not make sense start to seem logical. I remember telling her that I hate reading. I hate reading chunky paragraphs about characters that aren't real and when authors describe a simple yellow daffodil as some chaotic species of man-eating plants.

I mean, honestly, who would want to sit for hours reading a thousand-paged essay on a girl torn between two guys, and would not rather watch a thirty-minute _New Girl_ episode?

"Come to bed, Snixx."

A wave of tiredness washes over me, and my heartbeat races to the beat of a migraine that begins to drum in my head. All I want to do is crash into bed with her, sleeping away every waking hour of knowing that she isn't actually here. But the Lit exam is tomorrow – first fucking thing in the fucking morning – and I have barely gotten any reading done at all. My head hits the pillows and she melts into my arms; before I can even register the faint doorbell sounding from below, I fall asleep.

* * *

_24: 'We are what our thoughts have made us; so take care about what you think. Words are secondary. Thoughts live; they travel far.' - Swami Vivekananda_

I get six missed phone calls and thirty text messages from Brittany asking where I am, a voice message from Mom saying that she and Dad won't be home for dinner, another missed call from Berry in the evening (God knows why she called me), and ten more texts from Brittany at night.

The alarm clock says 4 a.m., but I feel like it's the end of time. My body is shutting down despite being awake; I can't seem to shake the buzzing noise in my head. I stay tormented for the next three hours before I have to get ready for school and Cheerios practice-

Shit! Cheerios. I am completely wiped and have no mood to do any double handsprings today. For all I know, Coach Sylvester probably has some crazy training program for us again (because, as she says, the Cheerios girls are 'anorexic skeletons risen from tranny town'), and I really am not up for it. I can barely stand without feeling like the world is spinning – today's morning training can kiss my hispanic ass.

I'm not sure how I got to school – I think I may have hitched a ride from my dodgy neighbour, who probably is in some Asian mafia that sells drugs, but my memories are not functioning right today – and I don't even bother showing up for the daily Glee morning meets. Mr Schue throws me his usual scrunched-up face but I walk away from him before he can catch me.

Coach Sue hasn't sent Becky after me, so I'm assuming she still has the other girls tumbling around senselessly. Little D would have laughed at that comment.

The contents in the coffee cup has been emptied into my stomach; pulling out the energy drink from my backpack, I pop the can open and take quick mouths of tasteless liquid. By now, the cough-syrupy flavour has already disappeared, and it simply tastes like bitter Coke now, but the smell still gets to me.

Danielle appears beside me with a wide, smug smile, her arm hooked in mine as we amble to Lit class together.

My heartbeat is going nuts when her skin touches mine. I haven't seen Brittany nor Quinn yet, or any other of the Gleeks for that matter, so the morning is quiet and disrupted. For once, I am thankful that my friends have no time to interrogate me about my absence in the training/meeting today, but really, it won't take long before they bombard me during lunch.

"I thought we had homeroom on Monday mornings?'

I bite my tongue accidentally as my head begins to spin in all directions and with a relentless desire to kill me. "Schedule changes."

"Oh,"

She sits beside me through the exam as I panic about how my page is still fucking blank when it has already been an hour. I have thirty fucking minutes to come up with a paper that looks remotely legit, but I can't concentrate. The fucking bird outside is chirping like a madman, the clock is fucking raping my ears, and the lights are just too fucking goddamn bright.

It's like someone is grabbing me by the chest and squeezing the life out of me.

Fucking, fuck fuck fuck.

"Snixx, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The teacher whips her head upwards, and I can see that everyone in the room has paused their writing motion. Kurt, who is sitting in the far corner opposite of me, actually turns to pointedly look at me with concerned eyes. Little D should have known better than to talk in the middle of an exam-

"Excuse me, Ms. Lopez?"

"Sorry, I'll tell her not to speak again."

"Her?"

At this, the constriction around my chest tightens – everyone in the room is already fully staring at me with disbelief, and my face is burning with embarrassment (but, also, it feels really, _really_ hot). My fingers begin to cramp up. The pen falls out of my hands and onto the table. I feel my body warming up and my heart races like a mad horse, and everyone continues to watch me, an insanity unfolding right before their eyes.

"Santana?"

I last hear Danielle's voice before blacking the fuck out.

* * *

_19: 'How strange when an illusion dies. It's as though you've lost a child.' - Judy Garland_

Reality comes in hot flashes for the next six hours; it's like having one too many shots and now you're just drifting in and out of life. I don't remember getting on an ambulance, but I do recall being lifted onto a gurney, because Dad hovered around me like some flitting bee, appearing in my vision as a blurry silhouette.

The blinding whiteness of the room reminds me of the constriction that initially placed me in this pale dump. Hearing your own heartbeat in the machines really does something to you – the slow thumping speaking in mechanic beeps, and suddenly you realise how fragile and ludicrous that life sustains solely because of this single organ.

It will break until it's wrecked, but it will still march on like a little drummer boy.

"Santana?"

Brittany props her elbows onto the bed, eyes hopeful with tear-stricken cheeks. Why does she look so sad? I hate seeing her like this, and I swear to punish the one who made her cry as badly as this.

"Hey Britt, what's up?"

She smiles and skips out the door to fetch the doctor closest to the room. Some weird doctor with bush stuck to his face saunters in, checks my vitals (wordlessly, much to my dismay), then proceeds to explain something about caffeine overdose, having too much energy drinks, or over-exhaustion. I don't understand nor like what he is spouting so I just ignore whatever crap he is shitting about.

The Gleeks walk in and I can't help but grin at them. Of all the people in the world, these losers have the time to wait in the hospital for hours just to see me wake up.

What a bunch of wussy teenagers, but I love them.

"Hi there," Berry croaks, and I'm still not sure if it is because she cried or because she hasn't had her evening honey-lemon tea. "How are you feeling?"

"Been better,"

She doesn't wipe away the hard look on her face, "We already have Quinn in ICU. We really don't want you in there, either."

Chuckling, I try to sit up on the bed. I can't. "It takes more to break this bitch down,"

"How about your heart beating so fast that it bursts..."

"Stop being such a depressing pansy, Berry. I'll be there for Nationals brand spankin' new so you won't lose and drift away from your life route, don't worry."

"You know, even while you're on the brink of death, you're still a bitch."

And with that, Berry turns her back and walks out of the room. Finn Tubson follows her like some lost puppy, and I feel slightly sorry for him to have such an uptight girlfriend. Poor thing, and that's coming from a girl who just recovered from cardiac arrest.

Everybody leaves with distasteful facial expressions that are badly covered up by get-well-soon's and balloons from the hospital gift stores. There is a particular sadness to being around people, then being alone by yourself in a white room – all I want right now is just Little D and some Sour Patch Kids. And maybe a guilty movie, even if it isn't Friday.

_20: 'Sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask, "Where have I gone wrong?" Then a voice says to me, "This is going to take more than one night."' - Charles M. Schulz_

Brittany tries to stay for a little bit, but the nurses chase her away. I want her to stay and hold my hand, but at the same time I want her to go home because there is school tomorrow (Cheerios practice, too), but also because I want to be alone.

Isn't it ironic how all those energy drinks that I've had for the past weeks is what brought me here? The one thing that brings me to happiness, Danielle, and it puts me on bed-rest for the rest of this week. I haven't seen her in almost a day and I already feel empty; I contemplate getting energy drinks from the vending machine down the hallway.

Where have I gone wrong?

"This is going to take more than one night," Little D says in my brain, but I don't see her appearing before my eyes, or coming through the doors. The voice sounds like my own, except that it is masked by the shrill tone of baby Danielle.

I continue to lie to myself, and it keeps me awake through the night. The doctor and nurses say I need my rest, but I can't sleep while knowing that I haven't said goodnight to her.

Goodnight, Danielle.

Goodnight...

Answer me, please?

* * *

**Note****: Sorry for the long wait for the update! I've been stuck doing extra-curricular stuff in school, and other personal things I need to get down for school next year! Finally graduating (celebratory music starts)! As you can see, Dani isn't in the actual plot yet, but really she's coming soon, and I don't want to force her into the story. This chapter is rather short because it represents Santana's little heart attack moment, so bear with. Most chapter lengths will be around so, so it'll look less concentrated and word-filled.**

**Send some reviews on my way, I adore you guys! Thanks so much for all the support and love.**

**P.S. The quotes are adapted from BrainyQuote, as stated in Chapter 2. Another good place to find quotes (if you ever need one) is over at QuoteGarden. **

**Stay wanky!**


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